Chapter and Verse (4 page)

“
Dorothy, wait a minute please.”

I stopped and faced him, ready to hear him out.

“
Please don’t make your decision based on what happened today.  Pierce is right.  Deacon does need you.  For the very reason Pierce gave you.  Deacon is used to having things his way all the time.  Certain things happen in a certain sequence where women are concerned and I’m sure he didn’t mean to offend you.  Please.  Think about this before you say no.”

I listened carefully, but more than that, I watched him.  He was pleading his brother’s case and he was nervous doing it.  I had to know why.

“
Anton, why is this so important to you?  Why do you care who writes his biography?”

He leaned in closely, one hand on my shoulder, and whispered his answer in my ear.

“
Because I’d love to see you kick him in the ass and remind him he can’t have every woman he wants.”

I knew the expression on my face.  I could feel it.  He could’ve knocked me over with a feather.

“
He doesn’t want me Anton.  If he did, I’m afraid I’m not up for negotiation as part of this deal.”

Anton grinned and backed away slowly towards the elevator door.

“
Exactly Dor’.  Exactly.  Have a great day.”

I stood blinking at him until he disappeared from view and wondered what in the hell I’d walked into bright and early on a Monday morning.

He’d gone two nights without sleep and he vowed he would not make it three.  He sat with his head in his hands, his tie loosened and his sleeves rolled up.  He’d abandoned his suit jacket the minute he walked in and Miranda was smart enough not to appear too jovial.  He was glad his workload was light this week because it helped him reign in his anger.

He glanced at his computer for the hundredth time and still couldn’t get his head in the game.  One simple request.  It wasn’t even an unreasonable request in his opinion, but she’d flown out of there like her hair was on fire.  To make matters worse, she’d spoken to Anton and Pierce.  Their lips were sealed and they’d made fun of him for asking what they spoke about.  The woman was maddening and not in a good way.  She wasn’t playing hard to get, she was playing impossible to manage.  For some reason, that was worse.

Deacon sat up straight and made a decision.  He wasn’t sure it was a wise decision, but he had to know one way or another.  The waiting was killing him, although he’d never admit that to anyone.  He’d never done anything like this in his life and he wasn’t exactly sure how to go about it.  He was going to chase a woman.

Her file was exactly where it had been for three days now, perched on the corner of his desk.  He pulled it closer and opened it.  All of her information, from her family to her credit history was in there.  He had to be thorough, he’d been willing to open his life carte blanche to her.  His investigator had done exceptional work.  He pulled out the sheet of paper on top and then took out his cellphone.  His work number might show up as Sloan Enterprises on her caller I.D., and for that reason alone, she might not answer.  In his gut he knew he had one shot and he had to make it count.

He dialed her cell number and waited.  It was almost nine o’clock and that same gut feeling told him she’d be awake.

I sat at my desk staring at the Forbes cover that featured Deacon Sloan.  I’d read the article three times and was still no closer to a decision.  He told me when I left that I had until Wednesday, and here I was, tearing my hair out trying to decide.  I’d have walked away and never looked back if it hadn’t been for his brothers.  Both had said he was a great guy.  I didn’t see it, but they did and they knew him better than I did.  Maybe he was a great guy and he was missing the same filter I was missing.  That was a distinct possibility and I knew it.

There was also the money to consider.  I had money and I’d invested well, thus I had even more money.  I had loads of money and I wasn’t a greedy woman by any definition.  I wanted to get out of the city and own a little land.  I wanted to be able to run along country roads and buy a jeep.  Maybe with a snow plow attachment.  I wanted a driveway so long that I needed to plow it in the winter.  I wanted solitude and the ability to sustain it.

It’s not that I’m against marriage or children or any of that stuff people swear by, it’s simply that I suck at relationships.  It goes right along with that “over thinking everything” that I do.  Men think with their anatomy and I don’t begrudge them that.  I just don’t want to be a part of it and trust is tricky for me.  I thought I knew Hamm and for two years he played me for my tits and a connection to my father.  Every guy I dated before him seemed to want the same connection.  My answer?  Date my father.  If they didn’t want to get closer to my dad, they cheated on me.  No thanks, I’m done.  Let Melody incubate the grandchildren.  I’d be the strange cat lady out in the country.  Except I didn’t do cats.  I liked dogs.  Yeah.  A dog.  Me and my dog out in the country.  Was that too much to ask?

I was wallowing nicely in my dreams and self pity when my cell phone began to ring.  I picked it up and it was a blocked number.  I assumed it was my sister, she was always losing phones.  She probably hadn’t programmed me into her contacts yet.

“
Hello?”

“
Dorothy, it’s Deacon.”

Silence.  What was I supposed to say to that?  How did he get my cell number?  What did he want?

“
Hi Deacon.  What’s up?”

Might as well keep it friendly.  He hadn’t insulted me yet.

He blew out a breath and for some reason I found myself feeling sorry for him.  That was dangerous to my well being and I knew it, but I couldn’t help it.

“
I was wondering if you’d made a decision yet.  Now before you tell me to take a flying leap, I want to apologize for my behavior on Monday.  I was way out of line and I know that now.  In my defense, all I can say is, I didn’t think it through.  I assumed a series of events that happen with the women I date, completely forgetting that you and I will have a business arrangement.  I never should have grouped you in with those women and for that, I’m truly sorry.  Can you forgive me?”

Well smack my ass and call me Gidget.  Will wonders never cease?  Deacon Sloan was on my cell phone apologizing.  My inner voice was shouting that he NEVER apologized for anything and that made this a major deal.  Now was not the time to get snarky.

“
Of course I can.  I understand that a man in your position has to protect himself.  You jumped to conclusions and I overreacted.”

He sighed and I smiled.  Two steps forward.

“
Thank god you understand.  I think we could be friends Dorothy.  I like you.  You tell it like it is and I think we’d make a good team on this project.  Do you agree?”

“
I do actually.  I don’t have many male friends and your brothers impressed me.  They also said that you’re a great guy.  That counts for something with me.”

“
They said that?  Hmmm.  Wow.  Okay then.  How do we proceed?”

Deacon Sloan was at a loss for words.  Two shocks in one day.  Mr. Control was at a loss.  Maybe Anton and Pierce were right.  Maybe he wasn’t an asshat after all.  First impressions aren’t everything, I was willing to give it a shot and he obviously was as well.  Why not?  That snow plow was looking like a possibility.

“
I need to get a feel for your life.  Not just at work, but at home and in a social setting.  I need to see how you live and be able to ask you questions in those settings.  After I understand you better, then we’ll discuss your childhood and family.  Are you okay with all of that?”

Deacon sat up straighter and smiled.  This would work.  She’d see.  He WAS a great guy if he had to be.  He’d show her.  He even knew how to kick off their partnership.

“
That sounds wonderful Dor’.  I know how to begin.  There’s a charity thing at the MoMA this Friday night.  I’m a major contributor, it’s one of my things so I’m expected to attend.  If you’re free, you could go with me.  Watch me schmooze and do my thing.”

I found myself giggling and felt him smile on the other end.

“
Schmooze huh?  My dad’s a contributor as well.  I happen to be free Friday night so it’s a great way to kick off our collaboration.  I accept.”

“
Great!  Dinner’s at eight, but cocktails and schmoozing start at seven.  Is six-thirty too early?”

“
Not at all.  Let me give you my address.”

Deacon stared at the sheet that contained her phone number and moved his eyes to her address.  How he hadn’t noticed it before, he wasn’t sure, but his heart skipped a beat and he felt a bead of sweat break out on his forehead.  She recited her address and it matched the one on the page.  She lived one floor below him.  How had he not known this?  How had he not passed her somehow?

“
Deacon?  Are you there?  Did you get that?”

“
Uhmm...Dorothy?  How long have you lived at the Rock?”

“
You’re familiar with the building?”

“
Yes.  How long have you lived there?”

“
I bought it a year ago.  Why?”

“
No reason.  I love the area and just wondered.  I’ll see you at six-thirty.  Oh, and thanks again for the opportunity.  I can see already that this will be the start of a wonderful friendship.”

“
No problem and I’m looking forward to it.  See you Friday Deacon.  Love you.”

It was all I could do not to piss myself laughing.  I waited a second before I added the hook.

“
Gotcha.”

I heard him take a deep breath and I couldn’t hold the laughter any longer.

“
Not funny Lincoln.  Not funny in the least.”

“
Hell yeah it was funny!  Do you know what I would have given to have seen your face just then?  Damn you’re easy.”

“
I lost ten years of my life just then.  Don’t toy with my emotions woman.”

“
See you Friday Deacon.  Have a pleasant week.”

“
You do the same.  Bye.”

He clicked disconnect and sat back in his chair.  The female that would make him a mental case lived one floor below him.  One floor was all that separated them and she was writing his biography.  He was grinning because he found that he genuinely did like her.  Her humor would be an acquired taste, but at least she HAD a sense of humor and that made him happy.  He didn’t know why that was true, but it was true all the same.  He wondered why he didn’t go ahead and mention their living arrangements.  He shrugged to himself and turned to his computer, finally ready to get productive.  He’d tell her Friday.  It was no big deal.  She’d find it as interesting as he’d found it, he was certain.  Dorothy Lincoln was back on board and Deacon was once again in control.  Life was good.

Let me tell you some of the good things about being a Lincoln.  First, I guess you could say that if I’m in a jam, I could theoretically drop the name.  I never have, but I could.  Everyone knows my folks.  Melody uses it to her advantage, but I’ve never had to.  I’m thankful for that because I’d rather spend a night in jail (knock wood) than have to invoke the name of my father.

Second, there’s my sister.  Melody, as I stated earlier, went to school to be a fashion designer.  That can be advantageous at times.  Mainly it comes in handy when I need something drop dead gorgeous and I have no clue what I’m looking for.  Not for one second was I kidding myself.  Call it what you want, research, foundation laying, whatever.  I was going to a major fundraising gala on the arm of Deacon Sloan.  I had to look like I belonged there.

My sister was more than accommodating.  She was ecstatic to be dressing me for the event.  It helps that I trust her judgement and fashion sense.  She can cut three holes in a sheet, toss it over her head and add a rope belt and the bitch is ready for the runway.  It makes me sick, but in a good way.  My mother is the same way.  They can wear anything.  Me?  Not so much.  Most “fashion” is designed for the body frame of a thirteen year old boy.  No curves and lots of leg.  That leaves me out in the cold.  I have an hourglass shape.  Not ideal for the fashionistas that haunt the boutiques and the places I needed to go to find the perfect dress.

Then there’s the issue of shoes.  I don’t have big feet, I have clumsy feet.  Heels and I have a nodding acquaintance but it’s a strained relationship.  If I have a few drinks, we become estranged in a heartbeat.  Fickle damned feet... anyway.  My sister was thrilled with my request and she did herself proud.

It’s six o’clock on Friday night and I’m sitting at my vanity.  My sister has an arsenal of cosmetics and products splayed out in front of me like a mobile salon.  I can’t pronounce some of the designer names on the labels, much less tell you what they’re for.  With me, less is best.  I run, I sweat, I shower.  A little powder and blush and a sweep of mascara.  For the most part, that’s me done.  When I get to my destination, I add lip gloss.  I like strawberry and I tend to lick it off if I apply it too soon.  Once again, I digress.

I’m sitting in my strapless bra that’s a deep emerald green to match my dress.  I have on a matching thong - which I hate but my sister insists it’s necessary for the lines of the dress - and a garter belt with stockings.  Once again, she swears that pantyhose will screw up the dress.  Fair enough.  She’s the fashion designer.

She puts the last pin in my hair and inserts pearl stud earrings.  Next comes the emerald green antique choker with the drop pearl in the center.  I have to admit it.  I am drop dead gorgeous sitting there in my underwear with my hair half up and half down, a whisp of curls falling around my face.  I’m wearing makeup, but not too much, with a touch of green shadow that seems to make my eyes glow.  The woman knows her stuff.  Time for the dress.

I stand and she unzips the garment bag, a grin on her face that can only be described as a fairy godmother dressing Cinderella.  She holds it close to the floor and I step into it, the sound of silk rustling all around me as she hoists it up.  She laces it up the back while I adjust the girls.  I’m showing way more cleavage than I’m comfortable with, but she assures me that it’s not half of what I’ll see at the gala.  Once she’s finished, she turns me toward the floor length mirror and I gasp.

“
Wait!  We forgot the shoes!”

She places them in front of me and I have a silent conversation with the three inch emerald satin stilettos that are staring me down.  I’ve walked in them all day, back and forth across my hardwood floors, getting used to the feel of being tipped forward, my ass pitching up for the world to see.  It felt strange, but I adjusted and I think I’ve got the hang of it now.  They’re not nearly as uncomfortable as I thought they’d be.